


wolf like me

by nilchance



Series: ain't this the life [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Fellcest - Freeform, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Overstimulation, Sibling Incest, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Unhealthy Relationships, cross-universe bullshit shenanigans, offscreen kustard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: Red's never been good at telling his brother no.





	wolf like me

**Author's Note:**

> detailed content warnings in the end notes

The first ten seconds that they're in this universe, it's touch and go whether Edge just dusts Sans. Red can see him think about it. There's already a weapon in his hand, Sans's hoodie yanked tight in his fist. The only thing that makes him hesitate is that Sans is wearing Red's face.

"Heya," Sans says. He doesn't look spooked by having a sharpened bone an inch from his eye. He just hangs there in Edge's grip, unresisting, smiling an easy smile. "Didn't see this coming."

Nobody's so whatever about getting killed unless they're either fucked in the head or sure they're better. Faster. More heavily armed. There's no crack in Sans's skull, no missing teeth, no scratches on his bones. No LV. 1 ATK. 1 DEF. 1 HP. Evidence is stacking up in the 'fucking crazy' category, but.

Sans looks like Red. Is Red. Is maybe as hard to kill as Red. And his Papyrus must be something else to keep people too terrified to go for free EXP when they see it.

"Boss," Red says. He's not saying do it or don't. That's not his call. It's just a statement. Pit trap ahead.

Edge glances at Red, then back at Sans. Thinking. His eyes rest heavy on Sans's bare, uncollared throat.

There's no missing when Sans sees Edge's LV. That no-sweat grin falters for a second. Sans glances in Red's direction, eyes narrowed and hard. Red doesn’t flinch. If this asshole thinks he can judge Red harder than Red judges himself, he’s got another thing coming.

Then Sans says to Edge, quiet, like he's a beaten animal, "Been pretty rough, huh? It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Which is when Edge drops him on his ass.

***

"Show me," Edge demands as soon as he's kicked the front door shut behind him. He glowers at Red like he's trying to see through his clothes. His fists are clenched so tight Red can hear the leather creaking.

Three hours since Red texted him to say that he was screwing Sans again. Judging from the look of him, Edge had definitely been, heh, hard at work. Probably didn't even get to really fight anybody to let off steam; the Royal Guard for their harmless idiot king are more bored bodyguards than guard dogs. Undyne (this version of Undyne) gives him the closest thing to real, knock-down drag-out bloodsport fighting as there is in this ‘verse. Poor guy must be all pent-up.

Yawning, Red stretches his arms above his head. "Oh, I dunno, boss. I'm pretty bone-tired--"

Edge shoves him against the wall, a gratifying jolt of impact. Even for the sake of pissing Edge off, Red can't keep up the bored, disinterested routine. He groans. A second later, he's getting hauled to the couch by the front of the hoodie. Another push and the couch hits the back of his knees, making him sit down. The couch slides a little. Edge kneels down between his spread legs, his hands heavy on Red's hips, pinning him down like Red is trying to go anywhere. He rasps, "Show. Me."

There's a crazy light in his eyes. Edge holds onto control just as hard as Sans, because Red is doomed to be surrounded by uptight assholes who hold themselves on choke chains (at least Papyrus has his shit together), but he's about two seconds from snapping. Into violence, into fucking; it could go either way.

"Fucking hell, dude, lemme take my pants off," Red says. He sounds breathless. No point in pretending he's too cool for school. They both know Edge can get right in his head if he wants. "You wanna see or not?"

Edge takes his hands off and leans back, though he keeps up that unblinking stare. In the process of getting his shorts off, Red kicks him twice. Accidentally. Such a shame.

Before Red even gets his shorts all the way off, Edge must know exactly what happened. He must be able to see it, Red's cunt smeared slick with blue and red like a fingerprinting accident. Come is still dripping out of him, wet all down his femurs. At this point, there's probably a wet spot on the couch. Edge stops staring at Red's face and switches to looking at his pussy instead.

Edge takes a sudden, sharp breath and puts his hands back on Red's thighs, holding him open. Cool air hits wet skin, and Red shivers. "Yeah. He fucked me this time. You like that, boss?"

His voice breaks in the middle as Edge drags two fingers up his slit. He grabs at Edge's arm, not trying to stop him, just looking for something to hang on to. He wasn't lying when he said he was tired. So far, Sans is too fucking nice for Red's exact taste (too nice about fucking) but damned if he isn't thorough. Downright scientific about figuring what pushes Red's buttons without hurting him and then exploiting every one. But Edge's touch is like a shot of adrenaline straight to the brain, like bitter coffee and unleaded gasoline, and Red is wide the fuck awake now. The expression on Edge's face as he slips a finger up in Red's used cunt makes Red's spine go straight as a sharpened bone.

Edge takes his hand back; Red lifts his hips off the couch, clenching around him. trying to keep Edge inside him. Edge grabs him by the spine and holds him still."No, fuck, c'mon!"

"Stop whining." Edge studies the blue slicked on his fingers. Between Red's juices and the red leather of the gloves, it's almost purple, dark as the skin of a plum. Edge rubs his thumb and forefinger together, then brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. His tongue is red and wet and obscene, and Red can already feel it in him. Edge's eyelights are blazing, making the black around them look darker. Getting fucked makes Red all poetic and shit.

"Tell me," Edge says, his voice like iron. Then he leans forward, between Red's legs.

"Heh." Red squirms, testing Edge's grip. It doesn't yield. He relaxes. Edge licks his femurs, so close. "Whaddaya wanna hear? The part where he wanted it so bad I could smell it on him? He was the one who came to me. Had a dick formed before I even got my hands on him. Decided he was gonna be in charge so I couldn't mess him up again. It was ador--"

Edge drags his tongue from Red's cunt to his clit. Red can't even tell if the point is getting him off, trying to get him clean, or just licking every trace of Sans out of him. He jerks. He came three times already tonight. Everything is oversensitive, cranked up to eleven.

"Shit," he hisses, grabbing at Edge's shirt. Edge's free hand comes up to spread the lips of his pussy and lick between them. Red's legs shake with how bad he wants to close them, or drape them over Edge's shoulders and drag him in and keep him there. Edge's tongue slips inside him, and he scrabbles blindly at Edge's back. He's gonna leave marks. "Shit, shit, shit--!"

And Edge pulls back. Red whines like a total bitch. Edge's mouth is smeared and wet, his eyelights blown, his voice like gravel. "You asked for this."

"I did it for you, asshole."

Edge's eyes flare. "You loved it, you fucking whore."

He says it like an endearment. Red lays his head back against the couch, stretching his throat out. Says roughly, "Yeah."

Jerkily, Edge unbuckles his belt. He sneers, "You wanted him."

"Yeah." Can't lie about it. Red has a thing for control freaks, apparently. Sans is funny. He loves his brother, even if it’s in a weird smothering way. Maybe he just wants to watch Sans's grin slip and listen to him try to muffle his noises when he's coming. Crack him wide open and see what's inside. Red covers the hand Edge has wrapped around his spine. Presses Edge's fingers in harder. Next time Sans comes sniffing around, he's gonna see the marks Edge left behind. Let the self-righteous bastard chew on that. "And you wanna figure him out. Ain't it my job to get you what you want?"

Edge makes a noise, half growl and half rattling purr. Approving. It's a good noise. Then he uses Red's spine like a goddamn handle to yank him off the couch. Red hits the floor on hands and knees hard enough to knock a point off his HP, starts to say, "What the fuck, dude?!" Edge puts a hand on the back of his neck and shoves his face against the carpet. It leaves him on his knees with his ass in the air. And wow, Red is A+ good with this plan.

Edge takes his clit between forefinger and thumb. Starts to rub in slow, firm circles. Patient. Demanding. Red's legs tremble, threatening to give out, and Edge tsks.

"Look at you," Edge says. He's probably trying to sound derisive, but he sounds viciously pleased instead. "You've already been fucked and you're still getting wet. You're never satisfied."

Red digs his fingers into the carpet. He's probably leaving a wet spot on the floor, sweat and slick, to match the one on the couch. "Nope. Guess not."

"Pathetic." Edge presses down on his neck a little harder, leaning over him. He doesn't stop rubbing his clit. His voice drops low, like this is their little secret. "Was it good for you, brother?"

Red shudders. "Yeah."

"Was he kind to you?"

Red tenses. That's a sore subject between them and if he wasn't already on his knees, he'd make it into a problem. But his body is winding tight again. Edge knows how to work him over, how to wring orgasms out of him by force if he has to. He chokes out a laugh. "Yeah."

"How many times did he make you come?"

He could lie. He's not Sans, who lies to Papyrus's face about the dumbest shit and gets away with it even though Papyrus knows exactly what’s he doing, but he can pull one over on Edge if he has to. He could make this easier on himself. He's sore. The adrenaline's wearing off and exhaustion's setting in. He knows Edge is a mean bastard who hates to lose at anything.

"Three," he says.

"So considerate," Edge says. He digs his fingers into Red's neck, hooking one underneath the collar, pulling it tight. "But this is what you really need, isn't it?"

Red sucks in a breath to answer and comes instead, long and wracking. Which is an answer, pretty much. His legs give out, and Edge loops an arm under his hips and repositions him where he was. Holds him up.

"There, there," Edge says, all sugar-sweet sympathy. He lets go of Red's neck. Red feels weird without being held down, like his atoms might split apart and drift away. The sound of Edge's zipper coming down is loud, and Red groans even before Edge’s dick rubs against his slit. "I'll help you."

Edge pulls him back onto his dick. Red's so drenched that it's easy, only the jolt of their hips slamming together and the sweet ache in his cunt that says he's going to really regret this tomorrow. Edge hitches Red's hips up higher, angling him, and the next thrust nails his g-spot, making Red claw at the floor like it's going to save him. Edge makes a smug, amused noise that's unsteadier than he probably wants Red to hear, and doesn't stop. His aim has always been flawless.

Red tries to snarl at him, to ask if that's all he's got, but he keeps losing the thread. Edge fucks him brutal and fast, like a machine, knocking the breath out of him and all the scrambled thoughts from his skull. By the time he can manage to say anything, all that comes out is a soft, surprised, "oh, oh, oh fuck--"

Edge's growl is filthy, deep-down satisfied. His arm is trembling with how tight he's holding himself. How tight he's holding both of him. He's getting close. This is messing him up as bad as Red, and Red is viciously glad. He wants it. He wants Edge to come in him, fill him up, reclaim his territory. He scrapes up the last dregs of his energy to brace his arms and try to move back into Edge's thrusts. 

Edge's breath hitches, a vulnerable noise that goes straight to Red's head. Maybe it's the merciless grind of Edge's dick against his g-spot or maybe it's that stifled sound that finally shoves Red over into coming around Edge's cock.

It's like getting concussed. His vision is graying out, his ears ringing so hard he can't hear what Edge is saying. He still has no trouble feeling it when Edge comes hot inside him, thrusts stuttering and then slowing into a slow, dirty grind.

Lucky number five.

He can hear himself struggling to breathe in hitching gasps. It doesn't matter much except in a distant, hilarious way. Edge isn't going to fuck him to death. Red isn't allowed to die. Edge has made that crystal fucking clear.

Edge pulls out of him. Red can feel jizz running down his legs, the faint patter of it on the floor, two shades of red with traces of blue. When Edge manhandles him onto his back, the wet spot is still blood-warm against his spine. He shudders.

Edge grabs him by the jaw. Doesn't squeeze until it hurts. Shame. Red could use a little pain to clear his head. "Don't you dare pass out."

Huh. Passing out seems like an excellent idea.

"Whelp," Edge says, a warning in it.

"'M here," Red says, the words falling out of his mouth all thick and smeared together.

"Of course you are," Edge scoffs. He shakes Red's chin, jostling him awake, making Red hiss as his body registers about twenty complaints. "Open your eyes, you lazy bastard."

Red looks at him. It's kind of hazy, Vaseline on the camera lens, softening Edge's edges. (Ha.) A dangerous wave of fondness washes over him, a trick of endorphins and oxytocin. It hurts like he's strained an underused joint.

(The way he looks when he's fighting. The way he threw up and wept the first time he killed somebody because Red wasn't fast enough. The way he seems like a different person when he's sleeping, softer, younger. The way his hands shook the first time they had sex, desperately, reverently. The way he tries so hard.)

Edge eyes him critically. Whether he sees on Red's face seems to satisfy him. Not letting go of his chin, Edge reaches between the couch cushion and pulls something out. Wraps the cord around his fingers and dangles the bullet of the vibrator in Red's face.

Distantly, with the part of him that's not trying to shrink the hell away from it, Red wonders who keeps a fucking vibrator in the couch. The fuck kind of Boy Scout bullshit...

Not the point right now. Not even close to the point.

"Boss." His voice scrapes, rusty and dry and unused, like he's never talked before. There's no give in Edge's expression. Red manages to lift a heavy, dead-weight arm and paw at Edge's sleeve. "Pap."

Edge smirks, bitterly amused. "Yes, Sans?"

And there it is. Fuck the multiverse horseshit. Fuck the fact that they haven't gained one scrap of LV since they got here. Fuck the fact that nobody's tried to kill them in months. Fuck the stupid nicknames. Fuck this Sans's judgmental pity. Fuck this Papyrus for getting to be kind. Fuck this toothless world. 

They're still them.

And he's never been good at telling his brother no.

Giving up is sweet relief. He can't get out of it. He can stop fighting. His brother's got him.

"Pap," he says just to taste the name in his mouth, rolling it over his tongue, slow and thick like honey. "Fuck me up."

When Edge grins, mean and gorgeous, he looks younger. "If you insist." Smearing his thumb across Red’s wet cheekbone, he repeats, "Look at me."

Like he's going to look anywhere else. So he lets Edge see his face. He holds Edge's eyes as Edge reaches under his ribcage and presses the bullet to his dripping soul. It's cold. He's too tired to flinch. The noise that comes out of his mouth is naked and bleeding.

"You deserve this," Edge says.

He turns the vibrator on.

 

***

The floor isn't under him.

Red's on the couch. He's got his head propped on someone's pointy, bony-ass lap. It's about as comfortable as sleeping on a sack full of coat hangers. There's a hand resting idly on his throat. The TV's on, a jingle for Glamburgers tinny through the speakers.

He aches like a bruise. His pulse is throbbing dully in his pelvis and his sacrum, ready to flare awake if he's stupid enough to move. Luckily, he got all the stupid fucked out of his system.

His voice creaks like an old door. "Time izzit?"

The hand on his throat flexes a little. Not tightening. Just a reminder. "Shut up. I'm watching my shows."

Like a goddamn little old lady with her soaps. Must be Mettaton.

"Yeah?" Red says. It's just noise while he's trying to get his brain to reboot fully out of safe mode. It'd be easier if Edge would shove him off the couch or snarl at him or dig those long fingers into his throat. He's got nothing to push against

"Too much dancing," Edge says. "Too few chainsaws."

Red grunts. He shifts, and oh fuck, right, there's the pain. It's not the sting of abrasions, just the gnawing ache of overworked joints. It brings him back a little. He’s not sure he wants to be back, but Edge is going to want answers. That was the excuse for this whole shebang. 

Shebang. Ha.

He opens his eyes to look at Edge above him. "Ain't that the whole ‘verse?"

If Red didn't have practice looking for it, squirreling away every stolen smile, he wouldn't notice the way Edge's mouth quirks. And then boom, it's gone.

Edge looks down at him, raking his eyes over every exposed bone, because of course the fucker left him to shiver naked in the cool air. It's like he's checking for dents in his armor or nick in the paint of his car, another piece of equipment to be maintained. It turns his crank to let Red fuck Sans, but nothing is going to save Sans if he left one tiny little scratch.

(Not exactly true. If Edge was gonna kill Sans, he’s had a billion opportunities. Red doubts Sans would even fight him on it. Sans is kind of fucked in the head. Like recognizes like.)

The marks on Red’s bones are all Edge. But Red lets the paranoid bastard look him over like they just got out of a fight. He’s not gonna chill the fuck out until he sees it for himself.

Grudgingly satisfied, Edge turns back to the TV. He covers Red’s face with his hand, ignoring Red’s cursing and clumsy attempts to push him off. Uncomfortable healing magic starts prickling across the side of Red’s face where it ground into the carpet.

“The fuck,” Red says, muffled. It’s nothing, just an obnoxious little rugburn that’ll be gone in a couple days. If he had a normal HP, it’d be gone by morning.

“I don’t want to fucking hear about it from Papyrus,” Edge says, testy. “The idiot will just insist on doing this himself.”

He’s not wrong. Papyrus is a real sweetheart (Red’s still trying to figure out what’s wrong with him), but the guy doesn’t miss a trick and when he makes a decision, he doesn’t bend. It’s like trying to talk Edge out of doing anything, except with more Papyrus smiling and nodding and doing whatever the hell he wants anyway.

Still.

“You don’t gotta do that,” Red says.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Edge says. There are razors in it. “Or have you forgotten how this works?”

If they were home, Red would be shoved in bed to scratch out a couple hours of sleep before patrol at the asscrack of dawn. Edge would already be out the door, pacing the town, terrorizing the locals. Grillby, the dogs, even the fucking feral teenagers in the woods-- all of them were just biding their time until they go for Edge's throat. Edge held onto Snowdin a few desperate hours at a time by being the meanest motherfucker from the ruins to Waterfall. Undyne’s the closest thing Edge has to a friend, but she’d let them hang. She has to. If they slip up, all that will be left of them is dust.

But they’re not home. Not anymore.

When Red shoves Edge’s hand away this time, Edge lets him.

Red asks, almost like he doesn’t care, “You going soft on me, boss?”

Not meeting his eyes, Edge says, “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

**Author's Note:**

> the dubcon tag is for the fact that Sans knows that Red has some angle or another and that he's part of Edge and Red's kinky bullshit to some degree, but not to the full "Edge eating Sans's come out of Red" extent.


End file.
